Widowmaker attempts to break free from Talon.
(one shots culminating in a collection of short fics, From all povs.. Lena is not overly friendly to begin with)
'Shattered'
Widow dragged herself across the creaking worn floorboards; each inch gained a laborious effort, attempting to ignore the excruciating stomach cramps instead trying to focus on her destination.
Not for a second had she thought starting on the path to freedom would be easy and she had taken great care to make preparations for her final flight knowing withdrawals would be one of many side effects, but she hadn't expected this.
This was the tenth day past calling in and she had ran out of pills days ago.
"Get up!" Amelie scolded, "You were a prima ballerina for God's sake."
But this wasn't like Amelie peeling off her dead toe nails after hours of ballet practice; this was Widow's every synapse aching yet at the same time static. This wasn't like the hangovers Amelie used to suffer from drinking expensive wines and champagne, this was Widow's skin rippling and all at once shrinking. This wasn't like food poisoning Amelie and her husband, Gerard, had once suffered after eating seafood on a cruise ship, this was Widow's insides contracting until she thought her bones would break.
Here on the floor of a dingy apartment in the worst part of town, Widow lay curled in on herself clutching a hand gun in a vice like grip, her knuckles white in contrast to her cyan skin drenched in her own sweat, hearing the voices of ghosts long past and seeing flickers of shadows on the walls.
It hadn't seemed so bad at first, the shakes shivers and slight muscle cramps she had experienced before when on deep cover missions that had gone slightly overdue she had unexpectedly run out of medication. It was usually rectified by an injection Moira prescribed that was only for emergencies.
She had been unable to obtain one, the Talon Doctor keeping everything under fingerprinted lock and key. The French sniper had been forced to come up with an alternative, commissioning a contact of Sombra's to synthesise an imitation of her usual cocktail. How could she have been so foolish to believe that a gang banging back street pharmacist would be capable of reverse engineering medication created by a brilliant physician?
With an agonised moan, Widow rolled onto her back. The off yellow artificial light overhead stung her eyes only exacerbating the dull throbbing headache. Squinting from this vantage point Amelie noticed the bulging wallpaper, stippled with black dots of mould. The floorboards vibrated with a thumping bass line jostling her already taunt muscles, cars honked and revved in the street below. Widow could hear feet shuffling as people passed in the hallways and the scratching of creatures burrowed in the walls. Out of the corner of her eye a cockroach scuttled too close for Amelie's comfort but Widow couldn't find it in her to care.
"Get up!" Amelie screamed in frustration, echoing in Widow's head causing her teeth to rattle to their very core.
A non-existent breeze goose bumped her skin, raking across her flesh like glass; the waft of fetid air permeated her nostrils, the sweet smell of decay. Maybe an old woman long forgotten, being devoured by her cats.
Widow's stomach lurched.
With the last ounce of Amelie's strength Widow crawled on her hands and knees to the tiny bathroom, willing herself forward as she crawled into the bottom of the shower. Violently she retched, her back bowing and hands struggling to find purchase on the cheap plastic as she expelled dark viscous liquid. It dangled from her lips in ropey globs, pooling in the basin, its purple hue mocking her as merged with her unkempt hair.
Recoiling in disgust her tenuous grip gave way pitching her forward painfully into the bottom of the shower and into her own vomit, listlessly Amelie flailed until coming in contact with the shower tap.
Freezing cold water battered her tender skin as she rested in her underwear, breath coming in short staccatos. The thrumming of the water couldn't drown out the sounds of the blood sluggishly pumping through her veins. Instantly the needle like pains in her chest became ice picks. Biting into her hand she let out a pained shriek.
A thought like a jolt of lightening,
"We are going to die here!"
This was not the way she was going out, not like this, sobbing on the bathroom floor like a 1950's housewife. Gripping the shower curtain only served to rip it from its rings. Instead Amelie stretched as Widow hooked her foot through the strap of her bag, pulling it off the sink and scattering its contents all over the tiles.
The phone case shot out of her slippery hands and she scrabbled forward depositing herself half in the shower and half on the tiled floor. Struggling to focus as the individual letter swam on the screen alomost refusing to be pinned down, Widow typed out a message begging her only friend to reach out to the only other Doctor in the world who might be able to understand her physiology.
Message sent, she listlessly slumped forward, slipping into the world of stage lights and surgeon lamps.
If she could just reach her bag in the bathroom she might be able find something to alleviate the agony.
It had been a royal pain in the ass and she had called in way too many favours to obtain a tiny vial of the precious liquid currently carefully stashed in her bag. Her last contingency could be not used if she wished to survive.